REVIEW: STRIPPED

I suppose if it had been a bigger hit, or if someone had thought of it, Stripped would have been marketed as "Project X meets Hostel." Because that's pretty much what we have here: "found footage" of a group of horny frat-boy types hauling ass to Vegas for a weekend of debauchery, but finding themselves victimized and stalked by a group of black market organ traffickers.

It is Graham's 21st birthday, and so it's off to Sin City with his BFFs Luke, Cameron, and Tommy. They like to smoke weed and drink booze. They make an awful lot of jokes, some involving puke and some involving mothers. They call each other "fag" and make fun of Twilight. Because, you know, kids.

Along the way they pick up Capri, who crashes the party to hitch a ride so she can meet up with her boyfriend, Jake, who lives in Vegas. Once that happens, drama ensues when it's revealed she once had some kind of romantic tryst with Luke. But the kids quickly get back to their jokes and the social awkwardness is left behind for the time being. After stopping off at a gas station bathroom, they discover a business card promising "women willing to do anything to make you happy." (That means hookers.)  And we have a catalyst!

"Mind if I fornicate?"

The minute we meet out first character, you can immediately tell he, and all his cohorts, are going to be obnoxious and unlikable. That's a huge problem, especially in this genre. For Stripped, it's genuinely hard to tell if this was a conscious choice to make the eventual bloodletting all the more satisfying, or if the desire to make our kids "realistic" and "fun" didn't really work out that way. They fart, talk about fucking constantly, and make references to having sex with babies. (Seriously.) Either way, I don't care about any of these kids, at all.

Stripped, as a "story," takes entirely too long to get going. Except for the rather cheap and brief cuts of debauchery and torture soon to come (foreshadowing, only far less subtle!), the first 40 minutes is nothing but watching handsome and/or pretty young people hang out, high five, test your patience, and hold beer bottles. It is around the 40-minute mark when the kids finally get to the shady, out-of-the-way place where the strippers/hookers hang out.

Oddly, it is around the 45-minute mark where director J.M.R. Luna abandons the found footage aesthetic altogether and begins to shoot the film traditionally, which is jarring, to say the least. There is an attempt to maintain the style using surveillance cameras (which make no sense existing in an incredibly illegal and murderous operation), but all this does is make the brief, traditionally-shot sequences stick out all the more. Adding to this confusion is they seem to have used the same camera for every shot - the "found footage" amateur stuff as well as the real-movie, traditional stuff. So, take your established inconsistency, add this newer confusion, and you have Stripped: the feature film that dares you to figure out what's happening.

And finally, it is around the 50-minute mark when anything the least bit resembling a horror film finally begins to occur. This in a 75-minute film.

There is absolutely no attempt at coherence in Stripped. Although it's plainly established there is only ever one camera in use for most of the trip, suddenly, when it's essential to the plot, Capri randomly has her own camera. And speaking of, there's absolutely no reason, once Capri attempts to find her friends in a seedy whore house and becomes understandably scared, that she would hold her camera out at arm's length and film her own face as she walks around - especially when it's been established the filmmakers are willing to switch perspective to  traditional shooting, which easily could have been employed here. The most damning aspect to this is that Capri clearly has a camera - speaks directly into it at one point, like a diary - but then when she walks by in a "surveillance camera" shot, is obviously not holding a camera. This doesn't happen just once, but repeatedly.

I mean, what the fuck?

Honestly, there isn't much I can say about Stripped that's positive. The acting is decent, but only because it's not hard to get a bunch of kids to act obnoxious and silly. The girls were pretty and the boys were handsome. Everything shot was in frame and in focus. The strippers showed off their cleavage and sometimes their goods (if you're into that sort of thing). When the kids are killed and harvested (spoiler?), smile in relief, because it means the end is coming. 

I mean...that's it.

Look, if you always wanted to see the guys from "Jackass" get sliced up to rock/rap, all mixed with a lot of nudity, AND a scene where a naked boy fist-fights a crazy surgeon, now's your chance. Normally I'd feel guilty trashing a film this bad, but I don't this time. Maybe because this isn't even really a film. To call it such is an insult to filmmakers actually trying.

FINAL REPORT

Ash, can you hear me? Ash?

Yes, I can hear you.

What was your special order?

You read it.
I thought it was clear.

What was it?

Bring back life form.
Priority One.
All other priorities rescinded.

The damn company.
What about our lives,
you son of a bitch?

I repeat,
all other priorities are rescinded.

How do we kill it Ash?
There's gotta be a way of killing it.
How?
How do we do it?

You can't.

That's bullshit.

You still don't understand
what you're dealing with, do you?
Perfect organism.
Its structural perfection is
matched only by its hostility.

You admire it.

I admire its purity.
A survivor...
unclouded by conscience,
remorse,
or delusions of morality.

I've heard enough of this,
and I'm asking you to pull the plug.

Last word.

What?

I can't lie to you about your chances, but...
you have my sympathies. 

If we don't, remember me.

HELLMOUTH

Being that I am a big fan of 2005's Pontypool and an even bigger fan of 2011's Exit Humanity, I am very, very excited about the following:

From the Press Release:

Foresight Features, the studio behind Monster Brawl and Exit Humanity, has teamed up with acclaimed writer Tony Burgess (Pontypool) for a 1950's style throwback entitled Hellmouth. Directed by John Geddes (Exit Humanity), the film stars Stephen McHattie (Pontypool, The Watchmen) as Charlie Baker, a dying gravekeeper who’s forced to take one final job. The film also features an eclectic cast including female lead Siobhan Murphy, Julian Richings, Boyd Banks, the star of Exit Humanity, Mark Gibson, and some iconic cameos including Bruce McDonald (Pontypool). An ode to classic horror and fantasy, Hellmouth is a VFX spectacle that chronicles Charlie Baker's dark descent through Gothic landscapes, demonic worlds, and medieval realms as he journeys to discover the secret behind a mysterious cemetery.

"I wanted to create a story-driven film with fantasy and horror combined. Something that was directly inspired by the era of Hitchcock and even Ed Wood. Working with a writer like Tony Burgess was a pleasure as we both love the simplicity in many of the old classic films of the 50's and 60's, and even earlier in films like Nosferatu and Faust. We worked really hard to make Hellmouth something fresh." - Director, John Geddes

The Visual Effects Supervisor and Lead Artist roles are helmed by Toronto's Nick Flook, who has assembled a team of A-list artists who are working around the clock to complete the hefty workload.

"The imagery and style of this film is exactly the type of endless creative opportunity I’ve been wanting to work on for a long time. Dark and moody with dashes of wild fantasy, I can’t think of any artist that wouldn’t want to work on something this cool." - VFX Supervisor, Nick Flook

MARLBORO SLAUGHTERHOUSE

The Slaughterhouse is located on land, which used to be a farm, but was long ago incorporated into the property of the nearby asylum. How this land became hospital property is where this chilling tale begins. Apparently there used to be a farmer named Mr. Allen who once worked the land, raised and slaughtered livestock there, and generally lead the life of a normal, rural New Jersey farmer. His family, I've been told, had owned and farmed the expansive tract of land for generations. 

Then, one day the State came along and seized his land, telling him that they needed it for the mental institution, and that they had the authority to take it under their right of eminent domain. So they forced the farmer off of his own property, and began using the fields that he had cultivated to grow food to feed the asylum's inmates. 

Naturally the farmer was furious, and did not vacate his property without a fight. He would often be seen wandering the fields he once worked, hollering threats and cursing at any hospital employees who came into his sight. After hospital officials padlocked his house, he would repeatedly break in and continue to live there. When they called the police on him, the authorities had to drag the farmer away kicking and screaming. In a rage he vowed revenge against the hospital staff, and anyone else who dared trespass on his land. 

Eventually, out of sheer anger and frustration, the farmer went completely insane. Then, in an ironic twist of fate, Mr. Allen was committed to the very mental institution, which he so despised and had sworn vengeance against.

As the story goes, the farmer spent many years at the asylum, keeping pretty much to himself. After awhile, the aging Mr. Allen seemed to no longer be a threat to himself or anyone else. He had even gained enough of the trust and confidence of the orderlies to be allowed to join inmate work details outside the asylum's walls. Being a farmer by trade, it was not surprising to any of the officials at the hospital that he volunteered for duties in the institution's gardens and greenhouses, and he even tended to the institution's livestock.

Then one day, after working in the same fields, which he had once owned, the old farmer was nowhere to be found. The overseers rounded up all of the inmates to go back to the asylum, and Mr. Allen was just gone. A massive manhunt ensued, but after several weeks of searching, there was still no sign of him. It was as if he had just been absorbed back into the landscape that he was once so much a part of. Now at this point in the story you might be thinking "good for him, he sure showed them." But the legend doesn't end here, in fact it is really just beginning. You see, apparently farmer Allen had never really forgotten what the State had done to him, nor had he forgiven them for stealing his farm. 

Several weeks had passed since the old farmer had made his escape, and things around the asylum grounds had pretty much gone back to normal. Then people started to report hearing horrible animal noises coming from the Slaughterhouse late at night. Witnesses said that the unearthly racket sounded like the death squeals of pigs being butchered. Although people at the hospital were used to hearing these noises during the day when the Slaughterhouse was operating, it was quite unusual to hear them at night when no one was supposed to be there. Patients were starting to become disturbed due to the ghastly sounds, and many inmates had to be restrained or sedated at night to keep them from totally freaking out. 

Although the hospital sent police out to investigate the Slaughterhouse, no one was ever found trespassing. However, it was soon discovered that some of the farm animals were missing. Then one day something happened that would change the course of everything at the institution forever. 

Workers arriving at the Slaughterhouse early one morning were shocked when they entered the building to find the carcasses of various pigs, sheep, and calves strewn around the killing room floor. To make the gruesome discovery seem even more eerie, the walls were smeared with the blood of the animals. Scrawled across the white brick walls were warnings like "I SEE YOU" and "TONIGHT ALL WILL DIE."

The butchers at the Slaughterhouse notified the superintendent of the hospital, and a decision was made that that night an armed guard would pull an all night security shift at the Slaughterhouse, just in case the unknown intruder returned. That evening the blood curdling squeals of dying pigs once again echoed over the fields of Marlboro, yet no call was made to police from the night watchman, so everyone at the asylum felt confident that all was well. 

The next morning all seemed quiet and normal as the butchers approached the old Slaughterhouse for another day at work. There were no dead animals laying around, and no new bloody graffiti, but there was no security guard to be found anywhere either. The men called for him, but there was no answer. Then, one of them saw something unusual – a small stream of blood, which ran across the killing room floor, then trickled down the drain in the middle of the room. The men followed the tiny red river into the next room, then traced it right under the huge steel door of the meat freezer, which was still locked. 

I can only imagine what went through these men's minds when they swung back that enormous door and caught their first glimpse of the grisly spectacle within. There, hanging by a hook from an overhead meat rack, was the blood soaked body of the night watchman, still in uniform, frozen solid, with the decapitated head of a large pig where his own head used to reside. All around the wall of the freezer were writings on the walls – ramblings about greed, and pigs, and revenge. 

Around town the gruesome discovery was kept as quiet as possible, but in a relatively small community such as Marlboro it is hard to keep such a thing a secret for long.  No one was ever convicted, or even charged with the crime, yet everybody around here had a pretty good idea who the killer was, though nobody will talk about it openly to this day. The Marlboro Psychiatric Hospital has since closed its doors for good, and the old Slaughterhouse has stood abandoned and open to the elements ever since the whole incident took place. Crazy farmer Allen was never heard from again, though legend has it that he still roams his fields in search of trespassers. I was told that he even goes back to the old Slaughterhouse at night, where he sits in the attic staring out over his land through a hole in the building's crumbling roof. I've been told that sometimes people who live close to the old farm still hear the faint sounds of animals in their death throws emanating from the ruins of the Slaughterhouse.

Story source.

Top image source.

REVIEW: SICK BOY

Slaving over this blog for the past couple years has resulted in one pleasant realization: I really enjoy hearing from burgeoning filmmakers and being given the chance to review their newest independent offering. Films like It's In the Blood, and I Am A Ghost before it, consistently make me hopeful and enthusiastic for the future. That's not to say there aren't filmmakers out there working on their first feature right now who may not honestly be told they never should have picked up a camera. But they have to learn that the hard way: through bitter pricks like me and my fellow horror bloggers.

So...how does Sick Boy fare?

Lucy (Skye McCole Bartusiak) cannot hold a job to save her life, much to the chagrin of her fiance, Chris (Marc Donato). She eventually ends up hating every single one of them, as we all do, but instead of grinning/bearing it, she ups and quits them all. (She also listens to way too much rap.) A pretty bad argument between soon-to-be husband and wife leaves Lucy reeling, desperate to show Chris she's willing to work, and to contribute to their future. This leads to her taking on a babysitting job for a rather well-off family, whose matriarch, Dr. Helen Gordon (the non-stop Debbie Rochon), requests that Lucy watch over her very sick son, Jeremy. The rules are simple: Basically, don't go near him, as she's concerned someone may accidentally pass on additional germs to him. As the money is pretty fantastic, Lucy agrees and takes the job. If you've seen any "evil kid" films of the sub-genre, you know it can only end badly.

Technology has been both a blessing and a curse for the arts. Self-publishing has boomed for writers, and Deviant Art accounts are free for artists desiring to show off their paintings, sketches, etc.; ergo, we have seen explosions in people distributing their own work with the subtle proportions of cannon fire. The same can be said for film. The slow move to digital has allowed anyone to pick up (and afford) a video camera. Computer software, like Final Cut Pro, has enabled nearly anyone to edit video files on their home computer. This is how supply and demand works, folks. Flood the market with product and everything already available cheapens by default. It becomes more difficult to wade through all the garbage for that diamond in the rough.

That's where Sick Boy comes in...because it's quite good.

The story is very simple and contained, similar to another fine offering in the zombie sub-genre Zombie Honeymoon. The script is smart, and rewarding if you pay attention to the smaller details it offers. A radio broadcast early on mentions "strange flu-like symptoms" that seem to originate from South America; later, Lucy looks at photos taken during a family vacation to Venezuela. Additionally, allusions made to Lucy's younger brother, for whom she cared in her youth, insinuates a reason beyond her rather baffling desire to help the infected child well beyond what movie logic should allow. Speaking of, the cute and baby-faced blonde Bartusiak presents a likable heroine, despite our frustration with some of her choices.

Sick Boy has been compared to House of the Devil, in not only similar plots, but also in the slow, unfolding build-up to the inevitable horror for which the '70s were well known. As such, homage is paid to legendary films like Phantasm and Halloween, in the form of a red-on-black opening credits sequence and a very Carpenter-ish synthy score, respectively. (I also liked the random shout out to Throw Momma from the Train, which was completely unexpected.)

Made on a shoestring budget of $50,000, writer/director Tim Cunningham has accomplished a lot. The special effects used aren't going to win any awards, but when compared to complete gluttonous films like the Evil Dead remake, the restraint is refreshing and welcome. The direction is just fine, and the few "gotcha moments" work as well as they were intended to work. But luckily the film doesn't rely on these moments so much as on the impending dread that begins at Night one, seemingly comes to a head with Night two, but throws all the blood at the screen on Lucy's final night as babysitter for the Gordons.

Sick Boy isn't reinventing the wheel, but it doesn't want to. It exists as a zombie film in a sea of other zombie films, but stands head-and-shoulders above many of them. Will it stand a chance against something like World War Z? Probably not. But it could very well be better.

Not bad for a do-it-yourself approach.

You can grab your own DVD of Sick Boy here.

NODS

You volunteer at the mental health clinic. Given the dangerous nature of the residents, they assigned you the rooms of the less violent patients. The suicidal. Those who hear voices. Those that don’t say anything at all. 

You become close to a mute man named Arthur. He is a rapt listener, willing to nod his head for hours as you tell him the story of your life. You mention your past, your present. The people involved in both. Your hopes for the future. 

Arthur just nods. 

After several months of listening, you figure that you owe it to Arthur to get him out of the clinic. He can’t be happy sitting in a room by himself nodding at interns everyday. You talk to the supervisor of the clinic. You argue that he isn’t harming anyone. That he grooms and feeds himself with no problems. That perhaps his condition is a physical aliment. 

The day comes when your arguing pays off. The supervisor has agreed to let Arthur go. You rush to his room to tell him the news. “You’re free!” You shout. “Isn’t that great?” 

Arthur just nods. 

You write your name and address on a piece of paper. Hand it to him. “I’m going to miss having someone to talk to.” You say. “But now you can write me. I can learn all about you. Like why they were so insistent in having you in here, pal. I had to fight Dr. Thanner everyday to get you out.” 

He looks at you and takes the paper. Just nods. 

You go home, feeling good about yourself. You brag to everyone you can tell, friends, family, classmates, co-workers, about how you came through for Arthur. You even fall asleep with a smile. 

That night, your eyes snap open. Screams, unearthly screams wake you up. 

Then you see them. Your mother. Your father. Your friends. Your classmates. Your co-workers. Lying on your floor, their blood soaking into your carpet. Your walls stained with carnage. Their heads bashed in, their eyes missing from their sockets. Everyone you know dead or dying. 

You whimper and see a man standing in the doorway. 

It’s Arthur, holding the piece of paper you gave him. 

Your entire body shaking, you choke out. “Are you here to kill me?” 

Arthur just nods.

HOLY SHIT!